


What's In a Name?

by Cybra



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Family, Family Feels, Gen, Scrooge is messed up in the head, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 19:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14575785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cybra/pseuds/Cybra
Summary: She's called him "Mr. McDuck" ever since she was small and had latched on to him when upset.  After years of pushing her away, positive that she would learn to hate him like everyone else eventually did and the rejection would be easier to take without a close connection to her, Scrooge is almost-certain that it's too late to change it to "Uncle Scrooge".





	What's In a Name?

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of want to destroy people with feels today so I dusted off a plotbunny that’s been hanging around for a few months. Also, yes, I finally learned how to properly spell “Webbigail”.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** _Ducktales_ belongs to the Walt Disney Company.

The toddler clinging to his leg and wailing tempted Scrooge to call McDuck Enterprises Japan HQ in Tokyo and tell them they were going to have to hold the meeting via video conference call after all.  If it weren’t for the fact he absolutely needed to see some of the facilities in person, he would’ve pulled out his cell phone and started dialing the moment the child wandered into his room through the open door and burst into tears when she’d seen him packing.

“Come on now, Webbigail,” he pleaded, trying to calm her down. “It’s just two weeks.  I’ll be back long before you forget this ugly old beak of mine.”

“Don’t leave!  Don’t!” the child wailed, breath hitching with sobs. “Stay!”

Beakley hurried in, her typically neat bun starting to come undone.  “I’m sorry, sir.  She got away from me.”

“It’s fine,” he told her, trying to gently pry the child off of him. “Could you go to my closet and fetch something…er…someone for me?”

Beakley stared at him blankly for a moment before it clicked in her mind and she obeyed, returning a few minutes later with the stuffed lion he’d picked up on a whim.  He’d intended to give the child sobbing into his feathers and frock coat the toy in a few months for her birthday given she’d recently been obsessed with his story of riding a lion (the exact context for doing so he’d very carefully toned down for young ears) and had demanded it as a bedtime story for the past month straight.

He could find something else to give her later.  Right now, the toy was just what he needed.

“Thank you,” he told his housekeeper before ruffling the sobbing child’s head feathers. “Webbigail, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Webby shook her head, still wailing and clinging to him.

Carefully, Scrooge sat down on the floor, an admittedly awkward thing to do when one had a small crying child clinging to their leg.  He then poked the girl with the toy’s nose.  “He’s a friend, and he wants to meet you.”

He felt silly saying such things, but it at least it prompted her to look at the stuffed lion.  The child’s face was a mess: red and splotchy around the eyes, mucous dribbling from her nose.  Her beak quivered as she looked at the toy.

“There you are,” Scrooge encouraged. “This is…eh…”  Shoot.  He hadn’t thought this through.  “This is Rory.  He came to me hoping he could…ehm…work for me.  As a guard lion.”  Dear God, this was getting more ridiculous by the second, but he was committed to it now.  “I don’t really have a use for one, so I told him I’d think it over and see if I had somewhere I could place him.”

The child sniffled but her eyes were focused on the toy.  She whispered in a hoarse, teary voice, “Hi, Rory.”

Well, she hadn’t started wailing again.  Progress.

“I’m going to be gone for two weeks,” he began, then tensed as Webby’s eyes filled with fresh tears.  He hastily continued with “But I’m worried about you and your grandmother, so I decided I’m going to hire him as my stand-in:  He’ll guard you two whenever I’m away, not just this time.  If you ever need me and I’m not around, Rory will always be right there to take care of you two.  Okay?”

Slowly Webby released his leg, and Scrooge started to get some feeling back into his foot, not having realized it had gone numb until the pins and needles made their appearance.  However, he didn’t comment on it, instead patting the girl on the head as she clutched at the newly-christened “Rory”.

“I’ll be back,” he promised. “I’m like a bad penny that way.  In the meantime, you’ll have your grandmother and Rory with you.  So no more tears, all right?”

She sniffled and nodded before lunging forward to hug him tightly, the doll pressed between them.  “Come home soon, Mr. McDuck.”

He swallowed, awkwardly reaching around to pat her back.  Tears prickled his eyes at the sudden thought that one day she wouldn’t be begging him to stay, that she was going to hate him.  After all, everyone did in the end.  He was letting this child get under his skin, and it would hurt all the worse when she started despising him.  At least the toy would mean she’d cling to him less, put some distance between them so it would be easier to take when the inevitable happened.

His grip on her tightened just a little at the selfish need to hang on to her just a little longer.  His voice shook as he said, “The moment I’m able to.”

* * *

 

Almost eight years later and after he’d started reconnecting with his family, Webby still hadn’t called him “Uncle Scrooge”, and it worried him.

Likely nobody suspected just how insecure the Richest Duck in the World could be, but here he was, straining his ears to hear her refer to him as her honorary uncle, not as “Mr. McDuck”.  Then again, it was somewhat understandable if one took into account that while his great-nephews called him “Uncle Scrooge” to his face, he was still simply “Scrooge” when they thought he was out of earshot.

His place in the family was precarious, and he knew it better than anyone.  He wanted to know _something_ was solid.  He hadn’t been the best housemate for most of her life, but he had cared about little Webby.  His fears of letting someone in so completely and them ultimately rejecting him had led to him pushing her away more and more as time had gone on until they’d hardly crossed paths in the mansion anymore.

He was trying to fix that, but every time she called him “Mr. McDuck”, he was terrified that he had ruined things for good.  Just like he always did.

So he dropped hints: some subtle, some not-so-subtle.  Testing the waters, trying to gauge if she even _wanted_ to consider him family.

Such thoughts churned away in his head as he readied himself for bed.  Buttoning up the last of his pajama shirt, he stared at his face in the mirror as best he could.  The view was blurry, his eyes ruined by years of sunlight reflecting off rock formations and snow.  After spending years ignoring the mirror, it had become a necessary part of his routine: not for vanity’s sake but as a reminder to watch himself for one little slip-up could send the people he cared for packing.

A soft knock on the door drew his attention towards it.

“Who is it?” he called, reaching for his dressing gown so he’d be at least somewhat decent.

“It’s me, Mr. McDuck.”

The last two words felt like a stab in the heart, but he told the girl, “Come on in, Webbigail.”

She opened the door and eeled her way inside, a stuffed toy dangling from one arm.  It took him a moment to recognize the well-loved lion.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, eyes continually flicking to the toy that represented a time before she’d likely learned to hate him.  (Oh, he might have been one of her heroes, but she could still despise him on a personal level.  Besides, Donald was her real hero.)

She hugged the doll closer, as if hoping to draw strength from the toy.  “I…um…I wanted to talk to you about…the whole ‘Uncle Scrooge’…thing.”

He could sense Beakley lurking on the other side of the door, listening in.  His heart twisted as he reasoned out just why she brought this up.

He offered the girl his best smile to cover up how much he wanted to curl up beneath the covers of his bed and hide as if he were the child, not her.  “W-Well, lass, if it makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to call me that.  I shouldn’t have tried pressuring you to change it.  I’m sorry.”

She relaxed at his apology, and his insides instantly went cold as he felt silence slithering through his brain.  His fears had been right:  He’d ruined any hope of being close to the little girl he’d used to take care of when her grandmother was overwhelmed.  He should never have even made the attempt.

_‘Perhaps this whole thing with trying to be part of the family again is pointless, too.  Sentimental old fool, when will you ever learn?’_

“Thank you, Mr. McDuck,” she told him, smiling at him.

“You’re welcome, Webbigail,” he forced out as his throat seized up on him, unsure how he managed to make it sound normal.

_‘I brought this on myself.  I always do.’_

The pair stood there awkwardly before Scrooge cleared his throat.

“If that’s all you needed to say, then you should go get some sleep.  Another big day with the boys tomorrow,” he told her, cheer he didn’t feel coloring his voice.

“Not everything,” Webby told him, suddenly self-conscious again. “I, um, I think I should tell you why.”

“It’s not necessary,” he told her hastily.

_‘Don’t tell me.  I don’t want to hear you say what I already know.’_

“I want to though,” she said, hugging the lion and making Scrooge want to clap his hands over his ears to block out her voice. “I think you need to hear it.”

“It’s not necessary,” he repeated.

_‘I don’t need to hear it.  I already know what you’re going to say.’_

Yet that sinister masochistic streak that thrived in the silence wanted to hear her say it, to tell him the truth he didn’t want to hear:  He treated everyone so badly that he didn’t deserve to be called family.

“It’s just ‘Uncle Scrooge’ doesn’t feel right.  I mean, I know the boys have a big deal about calling Mr. Duck ‘Uncle Donald’ and that it’s a huge thing for them, but it doesn’t feel right calling you that even if it’s the same thing.”

The self-recriminating thoughts filling the void in his mind that the silence had left suddenly stopped.  He stared uncomprehendingly at her.

“I didn’t have a mom and dad,” she began, “but I had a Granny and a Mr. McDuck.  Calling you ‘Uncle Scrooge’ feels wrong.”

He could distantly hear Beakley suck in a near-silent breath on the other side of the door.

She…she thought of him as…After everything he’d done to push her and everyone else away…

He hugged her tightly, the lion squeezed between them.  She gave a quiet squeak of surprise before hugging him back.

“It means a lot to hear you say that,” Scrooge told her quietly, voice strained from suppressed tears.

One day she was going to hate him.  Everybody did eventually.

But at least he had the chance to hang on to something good for just a little longer.


End file.
